What We Are in the Dark
by Artemis's Liege
Summary: Together, the Bob-Whites are shining examples of honor and nobility. But what are they like once they're alone?
1. 1

**WARNING:** The contents of this story contains mentions of self-harm, eating disorders, non-explicit implications of drunken sex with a basic stranger, and non-traditional pairings. The author does not condemn those who participate in the above activities, but only endorses the final item, and it is endorsed most heartily.

**A/N:** I was re-reading _The Gatehouse Mystery_ the other day, and it occurred to me that while the Bob-Whites all promise to help each other out when they encounter trouble, in later books, their reputations are entirely squeaky clean (beyond Dan), and they rarely seem to face moral challenges. A friend of mine who is also a Trixie Belden fan pointed out that the Bob-Whites sometimes come across as almost being self-righteous and unfairly judgmental of other people who aren't as true blue as them.

This brought both of us to wonder if the Bob-Whites ever participated in any typical teenage shenanigans, such as underage drinking (hey, it happens) or sneaking out at night, and if they would ever tell each other about it, or if they would just keep quiet out of fear their friends would think less of them due to their own high standards. I mean, they are only human, after all.

And so . . . this story was born. It's about whether the Bob-Whites are quite as wholesome alone when they are together, and what kind of secrets they're keeping from each other.

Happy reading!

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Five times a Bob-White kept a secret about themselves, and the one time one of them told the truth.

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**1.**

Disdain in her gaze, Diana Lynch glanced around the sizable gift shop of the ritzy Virginia hotel where she was staying with her family and friends. She had ventured off on her own, temporarily weary of her friends and desiring time to herself. Entertaining any possible distraction from the gloomy place that was the present destination of her thoughts, she had left the Bob-Whites to continue yammering on in the hotel lobby, and set off to the gift shop, where she now stood, scanning the proffered wares. The overly expensive merchandise lining the shelves was arranged in elaborate displays designed to capture potential customers' attention and lure them in.

At the moment, Diana was browsing the jewelry section, at the rear of the store, with the clothing racks behind her and the cosmetics area to her right.

She had entered the gift with with the hope of finding an exquisite treasure, a memento of her birthday trip to Virginia, to bring back to Sleepyside.

But the products here were tacky and overpriced- a "Williamsburg" sweatshirt for seventy dollars? Seriously?

Unimpressed, Diana critically surveyed the jewelry offered up for sale. Many pieces, of all sorts- traditional, classic, distinctive, modern- occupied slots on the revolving racks that she spun by lightly pressing her fingers on the edges, then brushing them across the plastic ridges to cause rotation. The process of observing the wide variety of bijoux brought on a blessed feeling of familiarity, which placated her. The fresh calm reignited a spark of confidence within her, and some of the anger drained away, allowing room for her spirits to be raised.

Then her gaze landed on a heart-shaped charm strung on a chain, and her temper flared, bitter anger and poisonous jealousy boiling in the pit of her stomach, bile climbing in her throat.

At the sight of the metal heart, Trixie's smiling visage flashed into Diana's mind, and her irritation spiked all over again.

Trixie Belden, her childhood friend. Leader of the Bob-Whites, who were all friends of hers.

Such good friends, in fact, that she had begged her parents to take all of them on a trip to Virginia in order to please Trixie, who was fixated on chasing yet another whimsical mystery. Diana's parents arranged transportation and lodgings and paid every one of her friends' expenses as a birthday present to Diana, which had been the initial reason for the club's trip. Of course, Trixie soon monopolized Diana's birthday jaunt, until, as usual, it was all about her.

Another chain on the rack caught her notice, this one with a small oval dangling from the end. Cupping the steel ovate in her palm, Diana found it reminiscent of a religious medal, and the image of the St. Sebastian medal Dan always wore beneath his shirt manifested in her mind's eye.

_Dan._

Dan had declined the trip, as he commonly turned down Bob-White expeditions. He thanked her for thinking of him and apologized, but insisted that he couldn't neglect his responsibilities.

But before she departed on her travels, Dan met with her and given her birthday presents: a professional sketchpad and legitimate artist's pastels.

"So you can become an art virtuoso," he told her with a smile. "I've seen your talent, and with a bit of practice, your work will be hanging in museums soon."

She had been so grateful, so glad that someone finally respected her interest in art instead of dismissing it as a passing fancy as her parents and other friends did. Happy to the point of giddiness, in truth, and her next actions were guided solely by compulsion, as her brain had briefly ceased to function properly due to exuberance.

Happily, she embraced him.

Impetuously, she kissed him.

Instantly, she regretted it.

He stood still as a statue, stunned, as she broke away from him, inwardly berating herself for being so foolish, even as she marveled at how _good_ his lips had felt against hers.

A startled expression developed on Dan's face, but then he smiled and laughed amiably, with just a hint of anxiousness.

Diana joined him in nervous laughter, though at the moment, her thoughts had revolved around how though Dan was handsome on his own, but he was positively gorgeous when he smiled.

They parted on congenial terms after that.

Her friend who had missed this journey with all its luxuries had given her wonderful gifts.

And her friends, who had allowed her parents to pay for their every want and need, what had they given her?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

They had joined in on her posh birthday dinner, paid and planned entirely by her parents, but they hadn't bothered to so much as purchase her a single card.

Even Trixie had received a an antique gold locket from Edgar Carver, a reward for finding his family's emeralds.

The emeralds that all the Bob-Whites had wanted to help find, but indulged Trixie when she stamped her foot and insisted that she and Jim would find them on their own.

As always, they catered to Trixie's every impulse to avoid her childish tantrums that occurred whenever she didn't get her way.

And she was sick of it. Diana was sick of Trixie, sick of the other girl constantly condescending to her when Diana tried to help her as much as she could.

It was petty and selfish of her to be upset by her lack of birthday presents. But if her friends were willing to accept her and her parents' generosity, could they at least try to return the favor? What kind of person accepted a friend's treat of a trip to Virginia offered at the very moment of desire to do such and yet couldn't be bothered to give that same friend a birthday card when the occasion became apparent only days later?

Stewing over the matter was pointless, but Diana despised it when people ignored her. Positive or negative, Diana liked attention, because she knew just how to make the most of the limelight.

Diana reached toward the necklace with the heart charm, tempted to purchase the item and wear it just to spite Trixie, to show her friend just how much better Diana looked wearing jewelry than she ever could.

In the end, she pulled her hand back. She saw no reason to buy a necklace just to attempt to annoy someone else. Unwilling to spend any more time in the jewelry section, Diana made a move to turn away, but another necklace caught her eye.

It was an elegant pendant, gold filigree shaped into a diamond figure, with a black teardrop-shaped stone set carefully in the center. The design was simple but sophisticated, chic in an understated manner, hanging on a sleek, delicate chain. Diana felt immediately drawn to necklace the the moment her gaze latched on it.

Covertly glancing around, Diana carefully removed the necklace from its hook on the display jewelry tree, dangling the chain from her fingers. She was the only one in this area of the store. There was all of one employee watching the shop: a teenage girl, maybe a few years older than Diana, who was decked out in clothes from Urban Outfitters, with an orange spray tan, obviously dyed hair that was an very artificial shade of red, and a manicure that transformed her nails into bubble-gum pink talons. The shade of her nail polish matched the bright color on her pouty, bee-stung lips, which Diana watched move as the girl chatted on her cell phone, totally oblivious to her surroundings as she neglected to do her job.

Disgusted, Diana rolled her eyes at the very thought of the store clerk. She could still hear the employee gossiping away about a girl from her history class who was apparently a dirty slut, and her speech was peppered with "like," "totally," and "legit." Diana recognized her type: the girl was probably from a wealthy family and hadn't actually needed a summer job, but had taken one at her parents' insistence that she "learn responsibility" and "respect the value of money."

This pink-nailed and pink-lipped girl, Diana knew, had never received free lunch at school, thus enduring the pitying stares of the entire staff, throughout each and every one of her elementary school years, because her family's income was so low it warranted aid from the local government. She had never cried in the bathrooms during the seventh grade dance because the other girls were mocking her dress, which was homemade because her family couldn't afford anything else. She hadn't spent her childhood living off of Ramen, tuna fish, and peanut butter on saltine crackers because her family had so little money.

Screw her. This girl with her spray tan was just another kid who would never suffer because her parents' money would solve every problem in her life.

Heart pounding, Diana slipped the chain and pendant into her small, cute purse (perfectly coordinated to match her sundress and espradilles). Ignoring the urge to sprint from the store, she calmly meandered to the door, feigning interest in several plush toys and novels along the way. She lingered, just inside the doorframe, for a few moments, examining a "Virginia"-emblazoned baseball cap, and then she walked out, proceeding to the lobby where the rest of the Bob-Whites were looking over brochures. She could hear them all the way from the next hallway: they were chattering louder than a swarm of cicadas.

Diana paused on her way to the lobby when she passed an extensive mirror in a gilded frame that lined a large portion of the wall. Removing the necklace from her purse, she held it up to her graceful throat, admiring the the contrast of the gold metal on her porcelain skin, the tailored fit of her tasteful and stylish dress on her svelte figure, her clear complexion, her luscious long hair. Her unique, vibrant violet eyes gleamed with satisfaction, and her lush lips curved into a smile, exposing her brilliantly white teeth.

Trixie may have had a lot of positive attributes, but she didn't have any of _these_.

Diana was unable to regret stealing the necklace. It was a birthday present, to herself, since her friends had forgotten about her.

* * *

**A/N:**

About Diana:

I was recently looking over Mystery of the Emeralds, and even though Diana's parents sponsored the Bob-Whites' trip to Virginia, they got her zilch for her brithday. Yes, they participated in her celebration, but they didn't even buy her a card. I thought it was a bit rude of them.

I know that while Trixie's reason for taking the trip to Virginia was to solve the mystery, Diana might view the reason for the trip as a celebration of her birthday. Different people, different perspectives.


	2. 2

**2.**

Patience lost and pressed for time, Jim planted his hands on his hips and glared around at his room. Where could his Swiss army knife have _possibly_ disappeared to? He had checked all of the surfaces, the pockets of the pair of jeans he had worn the previous day, each one of his desk drawers (not that it actually had a reason to be there), his sock drawer (ditto), but he was still at a loss of where it could be. He was completely packed for the camping trip beyond the knife, which he wanted to be certain to bring with him.

As a last resort, he knelt down to check under his bed, not truly expecting to locate it there.

He was right; the pocket knife wasn't there. Actually, nothing was under the bed besides a sturdy backpack, which he tugged out into the light due to his puzzlement about why it was there in the first place.

With a perplexed frown, Jim unzipped the backpack, noting the items crammed inside, arranged tightly to fit as much as possible. A compass, a small first-aid kit, a Swiss army knife, several packages of dehydrated food, a few water bottles, a box of matches, a change of clothes, a waterproof jacket, a space blanket, two hundred odd dollars in cash, and a state map of New York.

Oh. He remembered this.

When Jim had first arrived at the Manor House to live with his adoptive family, he had assembled and stashed these supplies just in case a situation arose, just in case he ever needed to leave on a sudden notice. It was a runaway's instinct, to plan ahead and gather necessary materials in the event that his welcome became overstayed.

Now, Jim considered the contents of the backpack, along his his thought patterns from many months ago. He wasn't so afraid anymore. He didn't honestly need this emergency kit any longer. The nagging paranoia that had urged him to collect these provisions had waned.

He removed the Swiss army knife, to use until he found his other one, but after a moment's hesitation, he replaced the backpack under the bed.

Just in case.

For the next few days, his mind would drift at odd times, and he would catch himself going through a mental checklist of additional supplies that would come in handy if he ever would need to run again.


	3. 3

**3.**

Staring into the eyes of her reflection, Trixie was unpleasantly startled by the realization that she couldn't look at herself without feeling an overwhelming disgust for her body.

She had always known that she wasn't slim and elegant like Honey, and she wasn't the slender, statuesque beauty that was Diana.

But now, there was nothing appealing about her: she wasn't even naturally pretty.

She was just pudgy and pathetic.

Trixie had always been sturdy, sure. She was robust, on the stocky side.

Now she was just plain fat.

Her teeth gritted together, but Trixie wasn't able to prevent tears from building in her eyes.

Ugly.

It was obvious, too. Flab wasn't just present on her stomach; it dripped from her arms, legs, face, neck- it was everywhere. She looked terrible, borderline obese.

This couldn't go on. She couldn't allow herself to look like this, to look so utterly disgusting.

There was a simple way to rectify this. If she wanted to lose weight, she just wouldn't eat. Today, she would skip breakfast.

Her stomach growled, and Trixie was reminded that she had been too sweaty and tired from cleaning out the barn to eat very much last night at dinner.

And the B.W.G. hiking trip was today . . .

No. If she wanted to be thin, this was what she would have to do.

Trixie set her jaw in determination. No food right now. Maybe she would eat something later, while on the trail.

But later, as she continued along the mountain path with her friends, Trixie began to regret her decision. Black and purple spots danced in front of her eyes, and her legs felt like lead.

She had fallen behind the others and was now lagging at the end. Jim dropped back to walk with her, while Honey and Diana conversed with Brian about the nature surrounding them, and Mart spoke in a low tone to Dan, who nodded and grinned wickedly.

"Are you all right, Trixie?" Jim asked concernedly.

"Oh, yes, fine," Trixie answered, struggling to catch her breath. The words were barely out of her mouth before she stumbled due to her dizziness.

JIm caught her and frowned worriedly. "Are you sure? Are you dehydrated? You ate breakfast, right?"

Trixie swallowed. "Yeah," she said, fairly steadily. "Of course."

After that, she went back to eating regularly, and she just made an effort to eat less during mealtimes.

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**A/N: **

About Trixie:

For the record, I think that Trixie's "sturdy" and "robust" figure sounds fine, unlike many other writers who apparently think she needs to lose twenty pounds before any guy would start dating her, or slim her down to a size two before she hooks up with Jim. Let's face it: Trixie is probably very healthy, judging by how active she is, biking, swimming, riding, ect. She more than likely has a heavier body type than either of her female friends, and there's nothing wrong with that, but at times she might think there is, because teenagers can be insecure


	4. 4

**WARNING: The following chapter alludes to sexual activity.**

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**4.**

The rays of sun streaming through the window felt like needles stabbing his eyes. Only semiconscious, Brian wondered if it was worth leaving his comfortable bed in order to close the curtains and return to sleep without the hinderance of the light keeping him awake.

The sunlight wasn't his only problem, though. The blankets weren't fully covering him, allowing drafts of cool air to disturb the cozy warmth generated by being nestled down in his comforter.

Without bothering to open his eyes, Brian reached blindly, grabbing around for the blankets. His fingers latched onto the material, but though he yanked several times, he couldn't pull it towards him. It was as if someone else was holding firmly and refusing to surrender the comforter.

Flummoxed, Brian opened his eyes just a crack, but even the fraction of light that slipped through pierced his vision, sending pain shooting to the back of his skull. With a groan, he rolled over to shield his eyes and bumped into something else in his bed, something hard and lumpy, like another person.

Jolted awake, Brian sat up, startled, looking about wildly. Light lavender walls with a white trim, Asian-style paper lanterns strung from the ceiling, a jade Buddha sitting on a dresser that was draped with printed silks, a wide bay window with diaphanous pale yellow and white satin curtains and a miniature rock garden sitting beneath, accompanied by a potted bonsai tree- this was obviously _not_ his room.

Stomach dropping, he glanced down at the comforter, which was pale yellow with a border of purple calligraphy in characters of an Asian language, with a large black and white yin-yang in the center.

Memories of the events that had occurred in the last twenty-four hours rushed back to him now. Brian had decided to spend a few days at the colleges of his choice, to see if he enjoyed life on the campus and in the classrooms. His stay at the particular university had been going well: he had been interested in the subject material whilst sitting in on the classes, and the grounds were beautiful.

But then he had been encouraged by a few other students, whom he had met during a lecture, to come by the sorority for a party, which he eventually did, against his better judgement. Once he had arrived at the sorority, he had naïvely accepted a drink presented to him by an unfamiliar student; now that Brian looked back on it, he berated himself for his foolishness. The contents of his drink had undoubtedly been spiked with a copious amount of liquor, and he should have recognized the taste and tossed the liquid, rather than shrugging his shoulders and dismissing his worries, which was what he had done.

He had tried to regain his senses after consuming whatever it had been, but another glass of some substance had been pushed into his hand, and he had downed that, too, because it hadn't seemed to matter at that point.

He couldn't recall much after that, not beyond gazing at some beautiful girl, only for her to look up at him and smile. They had both been laughing as they stumbled into the bedroom and fallen on the bed in a tangle of limbs and hormones. The rest was just a whirl of tongues, hickeys, and breathy moans.

Trepidation mounting, he glanced at the other person in the bed.

A college girl, tall, slender, and pretty, with legs a mile long. Her lithe, bare form was tanned and toned, presumably from extended outdoor athletics, and she had the hips and breasts of a movie star. She had long light brown hair- no, on second thought, it was more auburn, framing her smooth and lovely face that contained sensuous lips and thick dark eyelashes, which, as he watched, parted to reveal annoyed hazel eyes.

"The shower is the door on the right," she said lowly, before rolling over and burrowing back under the covers.

Color rising in his face, Brian gathered his clothes and ducked into the connecting bathroom. Once standing under the hot, cleansing spray of water, he reached a resolution: there was no need to tell anyone about what had occurred here. Ever


	5. 5

**WARNING: The following chapter contains triggering content, i.e., self-harm.**

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**5.**

Disappointment crashed over Honey Wheeler as an ocean wave would batter breaker rocks, and tears of frustration welled in her eyes, though she did her best to stop the moisture from trailing down her cheeks. However, her dainty hands curled into fists, and in anger, she pounded sharply onto the hard wood of her cedar desk.

Four hours. She had studied her math notebook for four hours last night, and still when she had taken the test earlier today, she been completely lost. She had panicked and confused herself, thus dooming herself.

Useless and arbitrary as it may sound, it was so unfair. After she had worked so hard, studying the chapter work till she was exhausted, she should have easily breezed through each and every math problem.

But no. For whatever reason, she was incapable of passing a damn math test. What kind of idiot was she?

Honey struck her desk with an open palm and felt pain throb through the appendage, and then began to pace back and forth across the Oriental carpet.

Trembling with vexation, directed purely at herself, Honey desperately wanted to relieve her anger, to abandon her genteel upbringing and slam her fist into the wall with all her might and feel the pain of her fingers breaking, or throw her knuckles into the mirror and watch the glass shatter as blood gushed from her hand, if only to placate the terrible rage brewing within her. She needed to satisfy her frustration, to alleviate the tension coiling around her that was tightening every second, choking her.

This wasn't the first time she had the urge to let herself physically suffer in order to mitigate the rigid exasperation that bound her in place and prevented her from escaping its unrelenting grasp. And she didn't want to hurt herself.

She just wanted to let go.

Closing her eyes for a few moments as her jaws clenched, Honey summoned up her will and carefully walked to her desk, where she withdrew a pair scissors from the top drawer. Then she moved to her lavish bathroom and stood before the sink, in front of the mirror.

Her reflection's face was pale and drawn, with wide, startled eyes. Honey momentarily questioned her sanity for purposefully planning to hurt herself, but she pushed those thoughts aside and summoned her resolve.

Just once. That couldn't hurt anyone.

Slowly, deliberately, she opened the scissor blades and extended them as far as they would go. Then she pressed the far blade against the outside of her upper left arm and pulled across, towards the mirror. Acute pain stabbed at her, and as she laid the scissors down, red blood brimmed from the self-inflicted wound. She held tissues over the laceration with her opposite hand, and with the other, she opened her medicine cabinet to remove the first aid kit.

It was late November. No one would know.


End file.
